


it's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky

by void_fish



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/void_fish/pseuds/void_fish
Summary: ‘I, uh. I have chronal displacement syndrome,’ Brandon says, over a chicken-avocado salad. He spears a cube of feta, and looks up at Nick. ‘But I kind of feel like you knew that.’Nick nods. He’s having a sandwich. On white bread. With chips. He feels like he’s going to need it for this conversation.‘So, what’s the youngest you’ve met me?’ Brandon asks.Nick shrugs, crunches a potato chip. ‘Not much older than you are now. Couple of months, maybe? You didn’t have such a deer in the headlights look, anyway.’ORNick Leddy: The Time Traveller's Boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a straight up au of the time traveller's wife. i refuse to apologise.
> 
> it was supposed to be my big bang last year and i flaked, and now that apparently i'm writing fic again? i figured i should stop sitting on it.
> 
> i'm folignos on twitter, i don't bite, come enjoy brandon saad with me.
> 
> warnings: there is a scene where overage nick kisses underage brandon, and an explicit scene with 11 years of age difference. please let me know if you think i need to warn for anything else.

**1994**

**Nick is 4, Brandon is 27**

Nick knows he’s not allowed to skate out here by himself, but his dad just stepped away for a minute to find a phone box and answer a page, and Nick’s not even that far out on the lake. He just wants to practice his backwards skating, just for a little while, and when his dad comes back and sees how much better Nick got, he might let them go to that hot chocolate place in town as a reward.

He doesn’t realise the ice is going to crack until he’s already underwater, and his giant parka is dragging him deeper. He flails, reaching out for the surface, but when he opens his mouth to scream, icy water floods in, and he chokes.

The surface feels very far away. Nick’s arms are so tired. He looks down to the bottom of the lake and watches his stick hit the sand. He’s so _cold_. Everything feels really bright, but fuzzy. If he looks up, he can see the hole in the ice he fell through, he’s just. So tired, and he can feel himself sinking.

His pulse is thudding hard enough that he thinks he can hear it pounding it in his ears. He starts swimming again, trying to get up to the surface. He tries unzipping his parka, because he can feel the thick material heavy on his shoulders, but the zip gets stuck.

There are these weird black spots blinking in and out of his vision. He’s _so_ cold. He swallows some lake water by accident and starts coughing, can’t stop, can’t draw a breath, can’t _stop sinking_.

-

Nick wakes up to someone pushing on his chest in regular bursts.

He coughs once, twice, rolls over, and vomits into the snow.

‘Hey, hey, whoa, you’re okay,’ someone says, pulling a hand on his back, stroking it gently. ‘Better out than in, they say.’

Nick keeps coughing, heaving up more water.

‘Where’s my dad?’ he asks, turning his head to look at the stranger. ‘Who are you?’

The first thing he sees are blue, blue eyes.

‘No one,’ the guy says. ‘I don’t know where your dad is. I haven’t seen anyone.’

Nick blinks. The stranger is wearing a Gophers t-shirt way too big, and pants that finish a couple of inches above the ankle. ‘Where are your shoes?’

‘I didn’t have time to find any,’ the stranger says. ‘I was-- already late.’

‘Late where?’

‘Here,’ the stranger says, softly. ‘Almost too late.’

Nick has another coughing fit, and curls in on himself. There’s a weird shimmer in the air, and when he looks up, the shirt and pants are just lying on the ground like they’d never had a person in them at all.

‘Nick! _Nick_!’

His dad appears from the parking lot at a run, skidding to his knees in front of him. ‘Nick, buddy, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I only meant to step away for a minute--’ He’s gathering Nick up into his arms when he sees the hole in the ice and his face turns grey. ‘What _happened_ , Nicky? We need to get you to a _hospital_.’

‘Someone saved me,’ Nick says, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck. ‘He said he was late though.’

‘Who?’

Nick looks back at the abandoned clothes, already being covered with fresh snow. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘He disappeared.’

-

The doctor says if Nick had been in the water for much longer, he probably would have died. His mom bursts into tears at that. Nick doesn’t really know why. ‘I’m okay, Mom,’ he says, but that just makes her cry harder. He looks up at his dad. ‘I’m okay,’ he says. ‘He _saved_ me.’

-

**1996**

**Brandon is 4**

Brandon doesn’t know where he is.

He was in bed, but now he’s somewhere dark, and he doesn’t recognise anything, and he can hear a crowd cheering in the distance.

He’s not there for long.

He bursts into tears when he goes back to his own bed, shouts for his mom.

-

**2012**

**Brandon is 19, Nick is 21**

It’s not Nick’s first training camp, not by a long shot. He’s still trying to crack the permanent roster, but he knows how it goes by now. He turns up, keeps his head down, works hard.

He’s not expecting to walk into the locker room and see Brandon, younger than he’s ever seen him, wide, scared, blue eyes watching Hossa tape his stick across the room, and then looking down at his own hands, like he should be doing something with them.

‘Hey! Brandon!’ he says automatically. Boller and Pirrs glance up, and then go back to their conversation.

Brandon’s eyes flash to him. He looks-- kind of terrified, actually. ‘Uh,’ he says. ‘Sorry, did we-- have we met? I’ve met a lot of people over the last couple of days, but I don’t-- remember you?’

Oh.

‘Oh,’ Nick says. ‘How old are you?’

‘...eighteen,’ Brandon says.

‘ _Oh_.’ Nick says. ‘We haven’t met yet.’

‘...No,’ Brandon says, and then, ‘Oh. We’ve. You’ve met another me?’

‘Several,’ Nick admits. ‘None of them quite as young as you, though.’

‘Huh,’ Brandon says. ‘I don’t-- normally go to the same person twice.’

Nick is suddenly very aware that half a dozen hockey players are listening in on this conversation. ‘I’m Nick,’ he says. ‘Have they got you in the Hilton?’

Brandon nods, still looking confused.

‘I’ll drive you back after skate,’ he says. ‘We’ll get lunch and talk without the peanut gallery.’

Brandon jumps, and looks around. Sharpy is suddenly incredibly interested in readjusting his elbow pad. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Okay.’

-

‘I, uh. I have chronal displacement syndrome,’ Brandon says, over a chicken-avocado salad. He spears a cube of feta, and looks up at Nick. ‘But I kind of feel like you knew that.’

Nick nods. He’s having a sandwich. On white bread. With chips. He feels like he’s going to need it for this conversation.

‘So, what’s the youngest you’ve met me?’ Brandon asks.

Nick shrugs, crunches a potato chip. ‘Not _much_ older than you are now. Couple of months, maybe? You didn’t have such a deer in the headlights look, anyway.’ 

Brandon turns a little pink, and looks at his bowl.

‘What about the oldest?’ he asks, after a pause, where he’s shredded a chunk of chicken into scraps.

Nick thinks about it while he finishes chewing his mouthful. ‘In your late thirties, maybe. You gave me these.’ He pulls the tiny notebook out of his pocket that he keeps on him most of the time, even though he has every page inside memorised.

Brandon puts his fork down and flips through the book. He hums. ‘There are a lot of dates here.’

‘We’ve met a lot,’ Nick admits.

‘There are dates past today in here,’ Brandon says, and shuts the book. ‘I shouldn’t-- you should keep this.’ He holds it out to Nick, who takes it, tucks it away. ‘My dad is big on me not knowing about the future,’ he admits. ‘He’s who I inherited it from, he thinks me being able to see the future doesn’t mean I should _know_ the future, you know?’

Nick chews slowly, nods. He thinks he gets it. ‘I’ll keep it safe for you,’ he says. Brandon gives him a shy smile.

‘You think you’ll still know me when I’m forty?’

‘Where else would you get the dates from, unless I give them to you?’ Nick asks.

‘True,’ Brandon admits, and stabs another cube of avocado. ‘So. Is Coach Quenneville always like that?’

‘Q? Basically,’ Nick says,  and picks up the other half of his sandwich. Brandon looks a little worried. ‘He’s a hardass, but he knows what he’s doing.’

‘He put me on a line with _Jonathan Toews_ ,’ Brandon says, stage whispering.

Nick laughs. ‘My very first training camp, Q made every D skate with Duncs. I wiped out and almost broke my ankle.’

Brandon snorts into his bottle of juice.

‘So nothing you did today could have been as bad as that,’ Nick says. ‘You scored a pretty nice goal, I remember.’

‘It was all Tazer,’ Brandon says, modest. Nick kicks him gently under the table.

‘I couldn’t have finished that,’ he says. ‘Don’t put yourself down. Keeping up with Jonny is harder than you think.’

The corner of Brandon’s mouth quirks into a smile. Nick’s suddenly struck by how handsome he is, sitting in this little cafe in the middle of Chicago, and half reaches out to thumb at his lower lip.

He tugs his hand back though. This isn’t his Brandon (yet, his brain says, and Nick has to squash that down too), he’s just a kid, and whatever happened (happens? CDS makes Nick’s brain hurt) between them hasn’t happened for Brandon yet. It’s not fair to-- project.

Brandon glances down at his hand, eyebrow quirking.

‘Sorry,’ Nick says, pulling it right back to his plate. ‘Force of-- habit,’ he finishes, lamely.

Brandon gives him a wonky grin. ‘More spoilers?’ he asks.

Nick mimes zipping his lips shut. It’s super dorky, but Brandon snorts into his water glass with laughter, making Nick grin.

Lunch settles into more banal conversation after that. Brandon asks Nick if he’ll ever get used to being in a locker room with _Jonathan Toews_. Nick laughs at that.

‘Jonny’s kind of a giant loser,’ he says, and Brandon’s eyes get a little wide.

‘Don’t tell him I said that though,’ Nick continues. ‘We let him pretend he’s cool, it’s good for team morale.’

Brandon laughs again, and asks him about Hossa. They move through the whole team, and by the end of the meal, Nick can’t decide if he’s calmed Brandon down, or just scared him even more.

 

-

**2001**

**Nick is 11, Brandon is 38**

There’s a grown man in Nick’s bedroom, wearing his dad’s clothes.

‘Uh,’ the man says. ‘This isn’t what it looks like, I promise.’

‘You’re not real,’ Nick says, carefully.

The man laughs. ‘That’s what you said last time, too.’

Nick squints. ‘My mom’s gonna be home soon,’ he warns.

‘That’s okay, I’ll be gone soon,’ he says, and sits on Nick’s bed. ‘Do you remember me?’

Nick says nothing.

‘That’s okay,’ he says. ‘It was a long time ago. For both of us.’

He shuffles forward, rests his elbows on his knees. ‘Do you have a notebook and a pen?’ he asks. ‘I need to write something down for you.’

‘Who _are_ you?’ Nick asks.

The man gives him a wonky smile. ‘My name’s Brandon. We haven’t really met yet. But we will. I’m a time traveller.’

Nick’s eyes go wide. ‘That’s not a real thing,’ he says.

‘It totally is,’ Brandon says. ‘In a little while, I’ll prove it. But first I really need to write this thing down, or I’ll forget.’

Nick roots in his nightstand, and finds an old, thin notebook with half a page of math homework in. He tears it out and hands the book over with a purple crayon.

Brandon grins at him, and starts scribbling in messy capitals.

‘What are you writing?’

‘Dates,’ Brandon says, distracted. ‘These are all the times I’m gonna come and see you. You can’t tell me about it, though.’

‘But-- you already know?’ Nick says, confused.

Brandon flips a page and keeps writing. ‘Past me doesn’t.’

‘Oh,’ Nick says, like he understands, even though he doesn’t. ‘Okay.’

‘It’s okay,’ Brandon says, and looks up. ‘You’ll figure it out. How old are you?’

‘Eleven,’ Nick says. ‘But I’ll be twelve _soon_.’

‘Then you’ll find out soon,’ Brandon says, and looks back to the page. He scribbles for another minute or so, and then flips it shut and hands it back. ‘I gotta go,’ he says, suddenly. ‘Keep that safe. I’ll see you in a couple of years, Nicky.’

Just like that, he’s gone, leaving Nick in his bedroom alone, with a notebook full of dates from the future. He opens it, and looks at the first date on the page. December 25th, 2002. It’s about eighteen months away. He tucks the notebook back into his nightstand just as his mom comes home.

‘Why do you have Dad’s clothes on your bed?’ she asks, coming up to check on him.

‘I was playing,’ Nick says. ‘What’s for dinner?’

-

**2012**

**Nick is 22, Brandon is 19**

Nick’s not blind. He sees that Brandon’s attractive, even when he’s a little younger than Nick’s used to, a little slimmer in the chest and shoulders.

He also sees the way Brandon looks at him. A couple weeks ago, he was shy, kept dropping his gaze when Nick caught him staring (and he _was_ staring, Nick’s sure of that). Recently though, he’s gotten bolder. More blatant. Nick isn’t sure what to do about it, if he’s honest.

It’s Brandon’s birthday the first time Nick notices anything. They’re all at Hammer’s place, getting their asses kicked at Mario Kart and getting Brandon drunk. Brandon had gone to the bathroom, and come back looking-- well, kind of like a disaster, truthfully, with his hair sticking up in all directions, and there’s a rash disappearing into the collar of his shirt that Nick could have sworn wasn’t there before. It’s so distracting he ends up driving Princess Peach into the sand, and losing hilariously and conclusively.

Seabs crows, and kicks him in the knee. Nick just dumps the controller into Shawser’s lap and makes a beeline for the kitchen, saying something about grabbing a fresh beer.

‘Loser beer!’ Seabs shouts after him. Nick doesn’t know where he found a grown woman willing to marry him, he really doesn’t.

Brandon follows him into the kitchen after a beat. Nick’s hopped up onto the counter to wait, kicking a leg out idly.

‘You okay?’ he asks. Brandon jumps.

‘Fine,’ he says, flushing. ‘Can I have a beer?’

‘Not your dad,’ Nick says, opening the fridge with his foot. ‘Where’d you go?’

‘--Bathroom,’ Brandon says, eyeing him.

‘Then where?’ Nick asks. ‘Wherever it was, you should probably have checked in the mirror before coming back downstairs.’

Brandon’s hand flies to his neck. ‘I, uh. I didn’t think anyone would notice.’

‘I don’t think anyone did, if it helps,’ Nick says, handing over a bottle opener.

‘You did,’ Brandon points out.

‘I’m good at noticing you,’ Nick says, before he can talk himself out of it.

‘I-- oh,’ Brandon says. ‘That’s-- really?’

Nick nods, takes a drink from his beer. ‘So where’d you go?’

Brandon pauses. ‘--You,’ he says, and Nick coughs.

‘Me _when_?’

‘I don’t-- I can’t tell you,’ Brandon says, apologetic.

Nick takes another drink to cover the disappointment. ‘Did we-- was that me?’ he asks, gesturing at Brandon’s neck.

Brandon is scarlet now, but he nods.

‘Huh,’ Nick says.

‘You said--’ Brandon says, and then stops.

‘I said…?’

‘I shouldn’t tell you,’ Brandon says, quietly. Nick slips off the counter, so they’re on equal footing. Brandon’s closer than he expected, clutching at the neck of his beer bottle, still unopened, the opener hanging loose in his other hand. ‘It’s against the rules.’

‘Come on, B,’ Nick murmurs, reaching for the beer. He’s only had a couple himself, but he feels a little drunk, a little stupid. He’s tired of waiting for Brandon to be old enough to know him, and now that he is, Nick feels like he can’t wait a second longer.

‘Nick--,’ Brandon starts. ‘I--’ He stops. ‘You want me, right?’

That startles Nick. ‘Of course,’ he says, easing the beer out of Brandon’s hand. He doesn’t even notice when Nick sets it down on the table.

‘This isn’t just-- I dunno, because you think you should after this?’ he asks, waving at the mark on his throat.

‘I’m gonna tell you something,’ Nick says, quietly. ‘It’s against the rules, but I don’t care.’

Brandon looks at him, curious, scared.

‘You were my first kiss,’ Nick admits, and watches Brandon exhale slowly, breathing some of the worry out of his shoulders.

‘When?’ he asks.

Nick has to think about it for a second. ‘The summer after I turned seventeen. You were-- maybe a little older than you are now. You had a beard, so later on I figured you’d probably made the playoffs. Back then, I didn’t know you were even a hockey player, let alone a teammate.’ He grins. ‘Could even be this season.’

Brandon hums, a little shaky. ‘If I don’t get sent down,’ he says.

Nick nudges him in the belly. ‘Shut up, you know that’s not happening.’

‘Happened last season,’ he says, and then, ‘You were my first,’ he says, ducking his head, a little embarrassed, Nick figures.

He reaches out again, taps Brandon on the chin until he looks up at him. ‘Want me to be your second, too?’

Brandon’s lips part in surprise, and Nick kisses him for the first time in seven years.

-

**2007**

**Nick is 17, Brandon is 21**

Nick hates all parties, but he hates the kind where someone decides spin the bottle is a good idea the most.

He can hear them all inside, cat calling and wolf whistling whenever the bottle stops whirring on the tiled floor of the kitchen. He kicks at a rock in the yard and contemplates just-- going home.

He kicks at another, sending it skittering into the pond, and then he hears something in the bushes. He freezes. He’s seen this horror film. He’s seen like six different versions of this horror film. He’s about to turn and make a break for the house when--

‘Brandon!’

He’s pretty sure it’s Brandon, anyway.

The guy grins, and yeah, it’s Brandon alright, just hiding behind the scruffiest beard Nick’s ever seen, and a truly horrendous haircut.

‘Did you lose a bet?’ he asks, and Brandon frowns.

‘Did I-- oh, the hair. Nah, it’s a-- group thing. For luck.’

Nick opens his mouth to ask more, but says, ‘You can’t tell me why, can you?’

Brandon looks apologetic, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, kiddo.’ He snags a pair of sweats from the line, grimacing when he steps into them. ‘Damp sweats are the worst,’ he says, mostly to himself, Nick thinks, but he comes and sits next to Nick by the edge of the pond anyway, elbowing him into the ribs gently to get him to budge up.

‘Sounds like a party inside,’ he says, glancing over his shoulder.

Nick pulls a face. ‘It’s dumb,’ he says. ‘I’m only here because Kyle is.’

Brandon hums. ‘You hiding in the yard for a reason, or--?’

‘They’re playing spin the bottle,’ Nick admits. ‘I hate spin the bottle.’

Brandon laughs quietly. ‘Me too,’ he says. ‘I was a shy kid, and there was this one girl, Mary Skalski, she knew just how to spin it so it would land on me every time.’

‘Player,’ Nick says, knocking their knees together, and Brandon laughs again.

‘She was terrifying,’ he says. ‘Relentless. I kept making excuses, every single time, until I got her to stop.’

‘How?’

‘Got a boyfriend,’ Brandon admits. ‘She kept giving me sad glances, but she stopped trying to kiss me. We still talk occasionally, her husband works for the Pens, and--’ he pauses. ‘What’s your beef with it, anyway?’

‘It’s dumb,’ Nick says, kicking at another rock, watching it clack off another one.

‘What is?’

‘The _game_ ,’ Nick says. ‘It’s just a way for all the popular kids to make out.’

‘You don’t like your chances?’ Brandon asks, grinning crookedly.

Nick shrugs, looking at his feet. ‘Maybe if I had some experience, it wouldn’t be so bad,’ he says, and then his cheeks heat, embarrassed.

‘You think?’ Brandon asks, nudging him in the ribs.

Nick shrugs. ‘More than this,’ he mumbles.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Brandon says. ‘When I was your age, I’d kissed barely anyone, and--’

‘I haven’t kissed _anyone_ ,’ Nick blurts, and goes still. ‘It’s so _embarrassing_ ,’ he continues, when Brandon doesn’t say anything.

‘It’s not tha--’ Brandon starts, trailing off when Nick scowls at him, and they sit in awkward silence. Nick goes back to kicking at the pebbles.

‘Would you kiss me?’ Nick asks, all of a sudden. He didn’t mean to, really, he was just-- thinking about it. He’s known Brandon his whole life, basically, and he trusts him, and likes him a lot, and he just-- wants to kiss him.

He risks a look at Brandon, who looks conflicted. ‘Please,’ Nick adds.

‘I’m twenty one,’ Brandon says. ‘You’re _seventeen_.’

‘I’m not going to tell anyone. Plus, you’ll go back to your own time soon, what are they gonna do, follow you?’

Brandon shrugs one shoulder up and down. ‘You never know.’

‘Please, Brandon,’ Nick says. ‘I just-- wanna know what it’s like, that’s all.’

Brandon closes his eyes for a second. ‘You’re impossible, even as a teenager,’ he mutters. ‘Just once,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t happen again, not while you’re so young.’

Nick scowls. ‘I’m basically an adult.’ he says, and Brandon laughs.

‘Sure, kiddo,’ he says, and leans in.

It’s-- damp. And kind of scratchy. Brandon’s lips are chapped and warm beneath the beard, and he kisses like he’s scared of hurting Nick. He has a hand on Nick’s jaw, tilting his face up, holding him steady. Nick has no idea what to do with his hands.

Brandon pulls back way too soon, and Nick leans in to follow him, but Brandon pushes gently, giving him a soft smile. ‘Now you know what it’s like,’ he says, and then pulls a face. ‘I’m about to pop,’ he says. ‘You gonna be okay, Nicky?’

Nick nods. He’s pressing at his lower lip with his thumb. ‘You know, you have really crappy timing,’ he says, to thin air.

-

**2002**

**Nick is 12, Brandon is 25**

Nick thumbs open his notebook again.

 _December 25th, 2002_  is still the date at the top of the page, in Brandon’s lopsided writing.

It’s seven am, and Nick’s lying in bed waiting for the clock to tick over to eight, when his parents say it’s an acceptable time to be awake on Christmas.

He sits up and looks out the window at the foot or so of snow outside. His parents are really deep sleepers, and Tyler won’t be awake until they wake him up. He tiptoes downstairs in his socks and pulls his rainboots on over his pyjamas. The first step into the snow is his favourite, and he figures he’ll just wander in the yard for a while before going back inside, and they’ll never know.

He finds Brandon in a snow drift.

‘Uh,’ he says. Brandon’s eyes float open.

‘Hey,’ he says, sleepy. ‘Happy Christmas. It’s Christmas, right?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ Nick says. ‘Are you okay?’

‘It’s really cold,’ Brandon says.

‘You’re lying in the snow,’ Nick says, and grabs his hand, pulling. ‘Get up.’

He gets Brandon into his dad’s woodshed, and pushes him onto the pile of sacking that he keeps in the corner. There’s a jumper on a chair, and a pair of ratty trousers that finish about six inches above Brandon’s ankles, but he huddles into them and shivers.

‘Why does anyone live here?’ Brandon asks, as Nick tries to work the old space heater in the corner.

‘Hockey,’ Nick says, and Brandon laughs.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Hockey.’ Then he pauses. ‘Nick?’

‘Uh, yeah?’ Nick says.

Brandon stares at him. ‘How old are you?’

‘Almost thirteen,’ Nick says. ‘Have we-- you know me, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Brandon says.

‘Do you know me in the future?’ Nick asks. ‘Do I play in the NHL? Do I play for the Wild? Have we won a Cup?’

Brandon’s frowning slightly. The space heater sputters to life. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he says. ‘Didn’t I… we’ve met already, haven’t we?’

Nick nods. ‘You appeared in my room. It was super creepy. But kind of cool.’ He remembers the notebook, suddenly. ‘You gave me this!’ He says, and holds it out. Brandon eyes it, but won’t take it.

‘Not allowed,’ he says. ‘I don’t know why I even gave it to you, you probably shouldn’t have that.’

Nick feels his face fall. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Should I-- throw it away?’

Brandon chews his lower lip, like he’s thinking. ‘Nah,’ he says eventually. ‘Keep it. You’ve probably already memorised the dates.’

Nick nods. The next one isn’t until he’s _fifteen_ , but he still knows the date, just after his birthday.

‘I uh,’ he starts, shoving the notebook into his pocket. ‘I got you something. For Christmas. But then I figured you couldn’t take it back with you, right?’

Brandon shakes his head. He looks impossibly fond.

‘I’m gonna keep it,’ Nick says. ‘Until we meet for real. Then I’m gonna give it to you. Deal?’

Brandon laughs. ‘Deal,’ he says, and shivers again, shifting closer to the heater.

‘It’s not that cold,’ Nick says, but he nudges the heater closer together.

‘Minnesotans,’ Brandon says, under his breath. ‘You’re practically Canadians, and just as crazy.’

Nick’s about to take offence to that when he hears his mom shouting. ‘I gotta go,’ he says. ‘Turn the heater off before you leave?’

Brandon laughs again, and nods. ‘Happy Christmas, Nicky,’ he says, smiling his wonky smile.

‘Happy Christmas, Brandon,’ Nick says, and then his mom shouts his name again, and he takes off, running right around the house so it doesn’t look like he’s come from the woodshed. He’s not technically allowed in the woodshed, but what was he gonna do, let Brandon freeze? Then he’d never find out what happens on all the other dates in his notebook.

-

When he goes back, after his mom and dad have fallen asleep in front of the fire, and Tyler is playing with his new legos, Nick sneaks outside. The clothes are neatly folded, and the space heater is off. Brandon’s drawn a picture in the dust on the workbench, of a wobbly stickman playing hockey, and he’s even signed it, _Brandon_ , scrawled in large, clumsy letters. His handwriting is even worse than Nick’s, he thinks. Nick kind of wants to keep the picture as long as he can, but his dad is in here all the time. He swipes his gloved hand across the bench, erasing the picture, and retrieves the small gift, wrapped clumsily. He doesn’t know when he’ll meet Brandon in the present, but the gift will keep. Nick will keep it safe.

-

**2012**

**Nick is 22, Brandon is 20**

Nick gets woken up on Christmas day by his alarm, blaring in his ear.

‘Ugh,’ he says, and swipes at it until it stops making noise. Brandon doesn’t even stir. Nick would pay a lot of money to sleep as deeply as Brandon does. So much money.

He lies in bed for about twenty minutes, trying to will himself back to sleep. They left the curtains open the night before, and he can see the snow trickling down suspiciously gently for the Midwest in December.

He shoves Brandon in the side, making him snuffle. ‘Come on, B,’ he says, shoving him again. ‘Wake up, it’s _Christmas_.’

Brandon makes a sound like he’s dying, but he cracks an eye open. ‘Tea,’ he says, garbled, and closes it again.

Nick sighs, and kisses his forehead. ‘Brat,’ he says, but climbs out of bed anyway, boils some water, and by the time he gets back with two mugs and a gift wedged under his arm, Brandon looks at least like he’s willing to entertain the idea of sitting up.

‘Happy Christmas,’ Nick says, kissing his cheek and handing the mug over, dropping the gift on his lap. Brandon looks at it like it’s a bomb.

‘You said we weren’t doing gifts,’ he says, wary.

‘We aren’t,’ Nick says. ‘This is just something little. I’ve been holding onto it for a while.’

Brandon picks it up. ‘It’s heavy,’ he says.

‘It’s a brick,’ Nick deadpans. ‘Open it already, Saader.’

Brandon unwraps it slowly, sliding his thumb across the clumsy tape job. Nick wrapped it when he was thirteen, it looks like a monkey did it.

‘A hockey puck,’ he says, confused.

‘Telling you this is definitely against the rules,’ Nick says, carefully. Brandon looks defensive, immediately. ‘No details, I promise,’ Nick rushes. ‘You came to my house one Christmas, when I was a kid. It was in the notebook, so I bought you a present, but you told me you couldn’t take it back with you. I figured I’d run into the real you eventually, so I-- kept it.’

‘You bought me a hockey puck when you were a kid?’ Brandon asks, smiling gently.

‘Stole one from the team bag,’ Nick admits. ‘I didn’t know you were a hockey player, but I hoped you might be. You had a beard,’ he says, and Brandon laughs, flips the puck over in his hands.

‘This is really cute, Nick. Thank you.’

Nick shrugs. He can feel his cheeks heating. Brandon leans over and kisses him. His breath is rank, but Nick can feel him smiling.

‘It’s a good job I got you a present too, isn’t it?’ he says, casually, and Nick looks at him, sharp.

‘You’re a bad person,’ he declares, and Brandon laughs, and hops out of bed.

Brandon had bought him a scarf, in dark, dark green. ‘Minnesota green,’ he says, while Nick tries it on. ‘If you’re gonna insist on your home town allegiances.’

‘Don’t think I don’t know about the Malkin jersey you had when you were fourteen,’ Nick warns, and Brandon laughs so hard he almost spills his tea.

It’s not a perfect Christmas. They forget about the turkey crown in the oven when Brandon grabs Nick and pulls him into his lap, and it dries out by the time they’re peeling apart, sticky with come and sweat, and the potatoes are sickly sweet, because Brandon mashed them with sugar instead of salt.

It’s pretty damn close though, when they give up on dinner, microwave one of the trainer approved freezer meals, and curl up under a thick blanket in front of the fake fireplace to trade kisses.

-

**2013**

**Nick is 22, Brandon is 20**

‘Hey, Nicky?’

Brandon’s drunk. Nick kind of feels like a bad adult, facilitating underage drinking, but also, he really, really loves drunk Brandon.

‘Yeah, babe?’

‘You’re not gonna leave, are you?’

Nick goes still. Brandon’s head is in his lap, looking up at him, balefully.

Nick’s heard the rumours. He knows that Brandon has also heard the rumours.

‘I’m gonna try my best,’ he says, carefully. ‘I don’t want to.’

Brandon’s eyes get all sad and droopy, and Nick feels like the worst person in the world.

‘They’ll have to tear me away from you with their bare hands,’ Nick promises, and leans down to kiss Brandon’s forehead.

‘Mkay,’ Brandon says, appeased, and tilts his head back for a proper kiss that Nick is happy to give him.

-

**2014**

**Brandon is 21, Nick is 23**

‘How much warning do you get?’ Nick asks one night, while he’s watching Brandon mix frosting for a cake. It’s his neighbour’s youngest’s birthday tomorrow, he’s made cake for all the kids. It’s tradition, Brandon says, which is possibly the cutest thing Nick has ever heard.

Brandon frowns.

‘Before you-- leave,’ Nick clarifies.

Brandon learnt to tell when he was about to travel when he was a kid, he’d said. It’s easy to pick up on the symptoms when you’ve been experiencing them since you were three, Nick guesses

Brandon shrugs, and holds out the spatula for Nick to taste. ‘Couple of minutes, sometimes? Sometimes I don’t know it’s going to happen until I’m already gone.’

Nick has frosting in the corner of his mouth. Brandon doesn’t tell him. ‘What does it feel like?’ he asks.

‘Cold,’ Brandon says, after thinking about it. ‘Or-- not quite cold, but. You know how in winter, you sometimes open the dryer and you don’t know if the clothes are just cold or still wet?

Nick nods.

‘Kind of like that. I feel… stretchy? Like I can’t really breathe, and then things go all spotty, and then I just--’ He shoves a finger in his mouth and crooks it, pulling it out of his mouth to make a popping sound. ‘Go.’

Nick doesn’t say anything for a while. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asks, eventually.

Brandon shakes his head. ‘Nah. It feels like maybe it should? But it doesn’t.’

‘Good,’ Nick says, and accepts another taste of frosting.

It always starts in Brandon’s toes. He laughs when he feels the tingle. ‘You’re kidding,’ he says, setting the bowl down. ‘Can you finish this frosting if I pull up the recipe for you?’ he asks, reaching for his iPad.

Nick frowns. ‘Yeah, wh-- oh my god, really?’

‘Yep,’ Brandon says. ‘CDS, among many other traits, has an amazing sense of timing. It’s like it knows I’m talking about i--’

‘--t,’ he finishes.

He looks around. It’s dusk, and he’s in what looks like an empty apartment. When he looks out of the window, he sees an unfamiliar city, and what looks like an arena in the far distance.

He scuffs his foot against the hardwood floor, and wanders around the room. Pokes his head into the bedrooms, the bathroom. Not a single piece of furniture in any of them. It doesn’t feel like a place that’s just been moved out of though. It feels like a place someone’s about to move into.

There’s post on the kitchen counter, when he pokes his head in there. He’s about to flip it over and look at it when he suddenly gets this hole in the pit of his stomach.

Sometimes, if he’s about to find out something he doesn’t want to know, he feels like his body tries to tell him.

He flips the envelope anyway, and his gut clenches.

_Nicholas Leddy_

_Apt 1205_

_775 New York Ave_

_Brooklyn_

_New York 11203_

‘Oh,’ he says to himself, under his breath.

-

**2014**

**Nick is 24, Brandon is 21**

It’s not a surprise, in the end.

He feels like getting benched in the playoffs should have been his first clue. Benched in _Minnesota_ , for Christ’s sakes, in front of his family and friends.

Getting taken off the power play for Richards was the first time he really started realising the rumours weren’t just rumours. He knows his contract runs out next year. He knows the Hawks are tight against the cap even without him.

He knows so many things, and when his agent calls, he can’t think of anything to say.

New York isn’t the worst place he could have been sent. It’s a young team. Could be a great team.

It’s so far away from Chicago it aches.

He thanks Peter, and hangs up. Brandon’s head is in his lap, and Nick thinks for a second he’s asleep.

‘It happened, didn’t it.’ It’s not a question.

Nick closes his eyes and doesn’t answer.

‘Nick.’

‘New York,’ he says, quietly.

‘Which one?’

‘Islanders,’ he says. ‘Brandon, I--’

‘That’s good,’ Brandon says. He’s not looking at Nick. ‘That’s-- they need D.’

I need you, Nick doesn’t say. I don’t want to go, he doesn’t say.

‘I need to get a flight to Long Island,’ he says. ‘I-- they want me to play tomorrow.’

Brandon goes still and quiet and _still hasn’t looked at him_. ‘I’ll come to the airport with you,’ he says.

It feels like there’s so much neither of them are saying.

-

Brandon fucks him slowly that night, Nick’s knees pressed to his chest, back pressed to wrinkled sheets. Brandon’s quiet as always, calm as always, but he keeps touching Nick like it’s gonna be the last time they’ll get to do this.

Nick comes with a sound that might be a gasp and might be a sob, and Brandon doesn’t acknowledge the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. They fall asleep with Brandon holding Nick’s hand tight enough it hurts.

-

They’re sitting in the parking lot of O’Hare when Brandon tells him.

‘I knew,’ he says. ‘About the trade. I just didn’t know when.’

Nick-- doesn’t know what to do with that. ‘When?’ he asks.

‘Remember when I was making that cake for Carla’s youngest and you had to finish frosting it?’

Nick nods.

‘I went to your apartment. In Brooklyn. It’s nice. Big. Your next contract is gonna be huge.’

Nick-- hasn’t really got anything to say.

‘I don’t want a huge contract,’ he says, only half lying. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Brandon flushes, guilty. ‘It’s against the rules,’ he says.

Nick sighs. He knows. He does. ‘I still wish you could have at least warned me,’ he says. ‘That was _six months ago_. Before the playoffs, before everything went to shit.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Brandon says. ‘I couldn’t.’ He pauses. ‘I think I thought maybe-- if I didn’t tell you, it wouldn’t happen.’

‘When has that ever happened?’ Nick asks, gently. His phone buzzes on the dash; when he looks at it, it’s the airline, telling him it’s time to check in. ‘I have to go,’ he says, talking over the start of Brandon’s answer.

‘I love you,’ Brandon says, quietly. ‘Nicky, I’m-- I’m sorry. I should have told you.’

‘You should,’ Nick says, harder than he means to, and Brandon flinches. ‘But I understand why you didn’t.’

It’s five am. The parking lot is almost empty. Nick takes a risk, and leans across the center console to kiss him, hard and fast and not nearly as thoroughly as he wants. They’d had a last kiss just inside the front door of their apartment. That was supposed to be it.

‘I love you so much,’ he says, brushing Brandon’s lips. ‘Don’t forget about me.’

‘Like I could,’ Brandon scoffs, and kisses him again. ‘I’ll see you soon enough, anyway.’

‘Spoilers,’ Nick chides, but his phone buzzes again, and he has to pull away. ‘I’ll miss my flight.’

‘Then you should just stay here,’ Brandon tries.

Nick laughs, and opens the car door. ‘I’m gonna miss you, B. I’ll see you at Christmas.’

‘You’ll see me before,’ Brandon says. ‘We play the Isles early December. I looked it up.’

‘Then I’ll see you early December,’ Nick says, and shuts the car door, jogging towards the terminal. He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t hear the engine of Brandon’s car start up, either.

-

**2008**

**Brandon is 16 and 17**

Making out with himself is not the weirdest thing Brandon’s done. He _travels through time_ , he can experiment with the one person he _knows_ isn’t going to tell anyone else. It’s not weird.

(And if it is, then who’s here to tell? It’s _him_. Just-- him with stubble, and a cut on his chin from a high stick.)

‘Are we gay?’ he asks, breaking apart.

Other Brandon laughs at him gently. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Well. Kind of. In a couple of months, you’re gonna meet Robin, and she’s _incredible._ ’

Brandon thinks about that.

‘You’re not allowed to tell me things like that,’ he accuses. ‘It’s against the rules.’

Other Brandon laughs again. ‘Okay, then I won’t tell you what she can do with her tongue,’ he says, and Brandon thumps him in the gut. But gently. It’s gonna be him in like a year and a half, he doesn’t want to get punched in the gut.

‘When do I start becoming such an asshole?’ he grumbles.

‘Against the rules,’ Other Brandon deadpans, and then tips his head back and laughs again. Brandon jabs him in the throat, but, again, gently.

‘So, we’re only gay sometimes,’ Brandon says, slowly. He watches the bob of Other Brandon’s Adam’s apple.

‘--Sure,’ Other Brandon says, shoving at him so he can sit up. ‘Good way of putting it.’

Brandon hums. ‘I travelled to the future last year,’ he says. ‘Do you remember it?’

‘No, B, I don’t remember the one of dozens of possible times I travelled to the future--’

‘There was a guy with a beard,’ Brandon interrupts, and Other Brandon flushes.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘That was just before Liam.’

‘I wonder who he is,’ Brandon says.

Other Brandon shrugs, and swings his legs off the bed. ‘We’ll find out, I guess. Maybe he’s a one night stand.’

‘Maybe he’s a serious boyfriend,’ Brandon counters. Other Brandon shrugs again, and then the air feels like it’s being forced through a very small hole, and his favourite jeans are lying, abandoned, on the floor. When he picks them up, they’re still warm from Other Brandon’s body heat.

-

**1996**

**Nick is 6**

‘I don’t know what his name is,’ Nick says, patiently. ‘He didn’t tell me.’

The therapist, Dr Mandy, makes a note. ‘Why don’t we give him a name?’

‘He has one,’ Nick says. ‘I just don’t know what it is.’

She hums. ‘And he’s a grown up?’

Nick nods.

‘How old?’

Nick shrugs, and looks down at the sheet of construction paper she gave him at the start of the session. He’s drawing himself winning the Stanley Cup wearing a North Stars jersey, even though he was only a baby when they moved.

‘As old as me?’

Dr Mandy is almost as old as his grandma. He shakes his head.

‘As old as your dad?’

Another shake.

She makes another note.

‘Is he a person?’

Nick looks at her. ‘What else would he be?’

She taps her pen on the paper. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Sometimes kids have animal friends.’

‘He’s not an animal,’ Nick says. ‘And he’s not imaginary.’

‘I didn’t say he was,’ she says, carefully.

‘That’s what everyone thinks,’ Nick says, scowling at his sheet of paper and adding another player in a green jersey.

‘Are you enjoying school?’ she asks, suddenly. Nick looks up at her.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I like hockey practice. And science.’

She doesn’t ask him about the stranger again. It’s dumb, Nick thinks. He’s never seen him again, and it was _two years ago_. He doesn’t know why his mom is making him see Dr Mandy.

-

**2015**

**Brandon is 22, Nick is 24**

‘Fuck. _Fuck_.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Nick says, down the phone.

‘This wasn’t fucking supposed to happen,’ Brandon says, and he knows he’s ranting, can feel it building, and it’s not fair on Nick for him to just blow up now, not when Nick’s called to ask how he’s dealing.

He takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that Nick knows exactly what it’s like.

‘I’m getting drunk,’ he says, instead, and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

'It fucking sucks,’ Nick says. ‘But only for a while. When are you leaving town?’

Brandon takes a pull straight from the bottle of whiskey. ‘As soon as I can,’ he says, bitter. ‘I don’t want to be here.’

Nick hums. ‘You want me to come help you pack? It’s a short flight to O Hare.’

Brandon sighs, takes another pull. ‘Not really.’ He can hear Nick’s shrug on the other end of the phone.

‘Let me know if I can help,’ he says, and Brandon is suddenly, irrationally angry at him. He hangs up, and throws his phone at the wall.

He feels guilty before he's even finished picking up the pieces.

-

**2012**

**Nick is 22, Brandon is 19 and 25**

He’s just seen Brandon to the door when he hears a thud in his spare room. There’s a brief silence, and then another thud, the sound of books falling to the floor.

Brandon looks like shit, when Nick pokes his head round the door. He’s pouring sweat, and his skin is gray-ish yellow. He looks about a second away from puking on Nick’s rug.

‘Hey, hey, I got you, buddy,’ he says, soothing, rushes over to get an arm around his waist, lowers him to the bed. He’s panting, and the circles under his eyes are purple.

‘The light,’ Brandon manages, screwing his eyes up. ‘Turn it off.’

Nick doesn’t really want to leave his side, but. He gets up, turns the light off, and has to feel his way back to the bed. Brandon’s fallen onto his back, arm thrown over his eyes.

‘I can feel my heartbeat in my head,’ he mumbles.

Nick sighs, lightly. ‘Concussion?’ he asks.

Brandon nods, and then moans pitifully. ‘It _won’t go away_ ,’ he says, ‘it’s _awful_ , and I can’t control my CDS anymore, I don’t stay anywhere for longer than--’

He’s gone.

Nick puts his hand on the comforter in the dark, feels the damp, warm space where Brandon’s back had been, and sighs again.

-

**2017**

**Brandon is 25, Nick is 27**

The hit is clean. He’s just, fuck, unlucky, or whatever. That’s what he tells himself, lying in an MRI machine and trying his best not to throw up.

It doesn’t really help.

They send him home with painkillers and instructions and a promise to have someone stay over who can watch him. He ends up sleeping in Fligs’ spare room, Janelle’s up all night with her pregnancy anyway, and she sits on the bed with him and reads on her Kindle and wakes him up every hour to make sure he hasn’t slipped into a coma.

It’s mild, they tell him, when he wobbles to the doctors in sunglasses and headphones the next day, thanking god it’s November, and grey as shit outside. The symptoms should go away, they tell him.

He vanishes on the drive home, probably scaring the shit out of Fligs. He doesn’t know where he goes, he’s only gone for a couple of minutes, somewhere sunny, near the beach. He screws his eyes shut and hopes no one finds him, hunched over and naked in the shade.

He thinks, bizarrely, he can hear his own voice, accusing someone of being a cheat, and then he’s back in Fligs’ car, gasping for breath.

‘I am too damn old for you to do the disappearing act on me,’ Fligs says. ‘I thought you got some warning.’

‘So did I,’ Brandon says, swallowing more painkillers than is probably advisable on an empty stomach and waiting for his ears to stop ringing.

It happens twice more that night, not for longer than a couple of minutes. Fligs looks increasingly distressed when he comes back, his youngest, Bobby, has CDS, and he’s probably terrified that she’s going to develop this tic, too.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, after the third time. ‘I think it’s a concussion thing. It’ll stop in a couple of weeks.

Fligs hums, disapproving, but Brandon stays put all through dinner (soup, because _chewing_ makes his brain hurt. Brandon hates this sport sometimes.) and doesn’t wake up somewhere new, which has happened before. He must be getting better.

-

It doesn’t stop in a couple of weeks.

Brandon travels to a dozen different places a dozen different times. He doesn’t remember a lot of it. Sometimes he thinks he sees Nick. Sometimes he’s alone. One time, he’s in a huge crowd of people, maybe at a concert? He’s only there for a few seconds, but when he gets back to his own time, he blacks out, doesn’t remember hitting the floor of Fligs trying to shake him awake. He _does_ remember the pain of the strobe lights and the music so loud he could feel the bassline in his gut. He throws up on Fligs’ kitchen floor.

-

‘What if I never get better?’ he asks Nick, who’s taken his All Star Break time to come and sit in the dark with Brandon’s head in his lap. He’s dabbing a cold washcloth on Brandon’s face gently.

‘You will,’ Nick says. ‘I’ve met future you. You get better.’

‘When, though?’ Brandon asks. Nick doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. He squeezes the washcloth a little tighter, and a trickle runs down to pool in the corner of Brandon’s eye.

-

**2009**

**Nick is 18, Brandon is 31**

Nick’s trying his hardest not to throw up on his brand new shoes when he sees Brandon in the crowd. He’s gone before he can really focus on him, but it calms him down, kind of. He didn’t know he was going to see Brandon today. It’s not in the notebook. He glances around. No one is paying attention to him. He sets off in the direction Brandon had gone, sees him disappearing around a corner and through a “no entry” door. Nick hesitates for a heartbeat before following him.

‘Brandon!’ he calls, quietly, and Brandon stops. He’s wearing an ill fitting, hideous suit.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ he says. He looks older than the Brandon who kissed him, than the Brandon he saw at Christmas. There’s a scar on his temple, one of his eyes looks funny, but he still smiles down at Nick with the same, wonky grin he always has.

‘Big day, huh?’ he asks, and Nick remembers where he is, and goes right back to trying not to vomit.

‘Mm,’ he manages.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Brandon promises. ‘i can’t say anything more, but. You’ll be fine.’

‘Will I go today?’ he asks. Brandon looks shifty. ‘ _Please_ , Brandon. I don’t want to sit in the crowds and not have my name called.’

Brandon opens his mouth, closes it. He shifts from foot to foot. Nick realises he’s not wearing shoes. ‘Yes,’ he says, eventually. ‘But I really shouldn’t even be telling you that.’

‘--I’m going first round?’ Nick asks. ‘I’m going _first round_?’

Brandon smile, fond. ‘Yeah, Nicky,’ he says. ‘You’re gonna be a star.’

Nick beams, and then Brandon makes a face.

‘You should go back to your mom,’ he says. ‘I have to return this suit before I, well. You know.’

Nick does know. He pauses, and then hugs Brandon tightly around the middle, before rushing off back to find his mom, so they can get to their seats.

-

When Nick gets drafted by Minnesota, he feels like crying. He still kind of wants to throw up on his shoes, but it’s excitement, not nerves. He goes up onto the stage, and puts his jersey on, and wonders, briefly, nonsensically, before he gets swept away into the madness of it all, whether this is how he meets Brandon for real. If Brandon’s also getting drafted today, or tomorrow. If they’ll meet on the ice, when Nick graduates college. He kind of hopes so. He likes the visits from Brandon, but he thinks he’d like it a whole lot more if he was around permanently.

-

**1997**

**Nick is 7, Brandon is 21**

Nick learnt about stranger danger in the first grade.

He knows not to take things that strangers offer him, he knows not to go anywhere with strangers, he knows if anyone tells him that his mom said he has to go with them he has to run away and shout for help.

There’s a guy sitting on a bench in the park without any shoes on. He’s wearing big sunglasses that cover practically his whole face even though it’s grey and horrible, and a North Stars jersey with shorts.

‘Hey, Nick, come on, we gotta get home!’ Tyler says, tugging at his sleeve. ‘Mom’s gonna be _mad_.’

‘...Yeah,’ Nick says. ‘Yeah, okay.’

The guy isn’t even _doing_ anything. Nick isn’t really sure why he’s staring.

‘ _Nick_.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m _coming_ , you’re such a lame-o, Tyler.’

-

**2013**

**Brandon is 21, Nick is 23**

Brandon always feels off-kilter when he doesn’t recognise where he goes.

Nick’s in bed next to him, snoring quietly. He hasn’t moved since Brandon left, sprawled out under the covers, taking up way more space than anyone, even a hockey player, reasonably should.

He wasn’t there for very long, long enough to steal clothes off a line, but he could feel the tightness in his skin that means he’s probably going to go back soon.

He sat on a park bench to wait, stolen sunglasses balanced on his nose. There were a couple of kids rushing past, small and dark haired and weirdly familiar.

Next to him in bed, Nick snuffles, and rolls over, cheek settling against Brandon’s hip. Brandon runs a finger down the bridge of his nose softly, and suddenly it clicks into place. He traces the shell of Nick’s ear until he snuffles awake, blinking up at him, bleary.

‘Whassup?’ he mumbles, pressing his face into Brandon harder.

‘I think I just met little you for the first time,’ Brandon says, stroking through Nick’s hair. ‘You were cute as a kid.’

‘I’m cute _now_ ,’ Nick says, yawning. ‘Is there a reason this couldn’t have waited until morning?’

‘I love you,’ Brandon says, and Nick’s eyes open properly.

‘Oh,’ he says.

‘I just-- I’ve been trying to figure out why I keep going to where you are,’ Brandon starts, pulling both hands back into his lap. ‘And then I realised.’

‘That you love me,’ Nick says.

Brandon nods. ‘There are all kinds of books and movies out there about it. Travelling to where your true love is, all that crap. I figured it was bullshit, you know? Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life.’

‘But you love me,’ Nick says. Brandon starts getting an odd, creeping feeling in his gut.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Yeah, Nicky, I really do.’ He pauses. ‘You-- feel the same way, right? It’s okay if you don’t, but, I’m kind of really hoping you do, because it would really suck if you don’t--’

‘I do,’ Nick interrupts, sitting up. ‘I really, really do, B.’

‘Oh,’ Brandon says. ‘Okay. Good.’ He can feel the dumb smile spreading across his face, but Nick’s grinning too, so Brandon just leans in and kisses him. Objectively, it’s terrible. There’s way too much teeth, and Nick’s breath tastes fucking awful, but Brandon still can’t stop smiling. ‘I love you,’ he says again, and laughs.

-

**2012**

**Brandon is 15 and 20, Nick is 22**

Just once, Brandon wishes he could travel somewhere at least vaguely familiar.

At least he’s in an empty apartment, the occupants out for the night. He steals a pair of sweats and a plain tee, and he’s just about to take a closer look at the photos on the dresser when he hears the front door click open, and he dives for the walk in closet, feeling like the biggest cliche in the world.

‘Get off, Nicky,’ he hears, and freezes, because that’s _him_ , older, words a little slurred with laughter and alcohol, but _him_.

He wonders if Nicky’s his girlfriend, and then they stumble into the room, wrapped together, and Brandon’s eyes go wide, because apparently Nicky is _not_ his girlfriend.

‘Come on, B,’ Nicky says, ‘Gotta reward you for that beauty goal tonight.’

Recently, Brandon’s been wondering if he might not be into girls as much as his classmates. He’s watching through the slats in the door as older Brandon giggles and tilts his head for this guy to kiss up his neck, leaving faint red marks that Brandon can see, even in the gloom.

‘Shut up, you love it,’ Nicky rumbles, and older Brandon squirms, laughing.

‘It _itches_ ,’ he says, but doesn’t push him away.

‘You’d miss it if I shaved,’ Nicky says, and then they’re kissing, older Brandon’s hands firm on Nicky’s ass, and Brandon feels like he shouldn’t be watching all of a sudden.

They’re both wearing suits, and he watches Nicky tugging older Brandon’s tie off, fumbling his buttons open until Brandon’s shirt hits the floor, and Nicky bends down, biting at one of older Brandon’s nipples.

He feels weird when his skin starts to contract, and he disappears, landing back in his bedroom at home. He feels-- settled, he thinks.

Next week, when he sees Liam from his bio class looking at him, shy, he grins at him, and gets a surprised smile in return. They date for three weeks. Brandon gets his first kiss in the parking lot after school, when everyone else has gone home and it’s just him and Liam waiting for the bus.

-

**2011**

**Brandon is 18 and 20**

‘You know it’s all gonna be fine, right?’

‘Ugh, fuck off,’ Brandon says, face down in a pillow. ‘Go back to your own time.’

‘Sorry bud, kind of stuck here. For now, anyway.’

Brandon’s kind of used to visits from other hims. Sometimes they’re older, sometimes they’re younger. One time, he got a visit from him in two weeks time. That was a weird one.

‘ _Seriously_ , stop stressing. I can tell you exactly where you get drafted if you--’ Other Brandon is sitting in the armchair in the corner wearing one of Brandon’s Spirit shirts. Brandon’s secretly pleased that it’s so tight in the shoulders and chest, and that Other Brandon seems to be a month or so into growing a decent beard.

‘No you can’t,’ Brandon says. ‘You know you can’t, _stop talking_.’

Other Brandon opens his mouth again, and Brandon throws a pillow at him. ‘Okay, okay, my lips are sealed.’ He pauses. ‘Do you want to know what tea--?’

Brandon throws a book at him, and he ducks. He smiles, crooked. ‘Don’t worry, it’s good news, promise. You’re gonna be great.’

Brandon scowls. ‘My hip--’

‘Non-issue,’ Other Brandon says. He sounds like he’s telling the truth, Brandon thinks.

‘Really?’

‘Well. It all works out for the best, in the end,’ Other Brandon says.

There’s a knock on the door, and Brandon’s dad pokes his head into the room. ‘Oh,’ he says.

‘I’ll be gone by the time you guys get back,’ Other Brandon promises. ‘Enjoy the draft,’ he says, with a grin, and Brandon sighs. Checks his tie one last time, toes into his shoes, and follows his dad into the hall.

-

**2017**

**Brandon is 24, Nick is 26**

Nick’s on the bench when it happens. It’s the first Islanders-Jackets match up of the season, so of course everyone’s talking about the playoff series from last Spring. Nick would honestly just like to forget all about it, even though he was still out with his knee then, wasn’t to blame for the way the team played.

Brandon scores. It seems like Brandon can’t _stop_ scoring recently, on an eight game point streak to open the season. Nick would be proud, if he wasn’t scoring on Nick’s team.

The puck hits the net, the goal light goes on, Brandon-- vanishes.

There’s a pile of uniform and skates crumpled on the ice. Nick has never heard Barclays this silent.

‘What the _fuck_?’ Boych breathes. Nick glances down the bench. They’re staring at that spot on the ice, to a man. Johnny looks like he might pass out.

‘Uh,’ Nick says. Boych swings round to look at him.

‘Has he done this _before_?’ he asks. Nick-- doesn’t know what to answer. If he says he doesn’t know, Boych will know he’s lying, but it’s not his secret to tell. He guesses Brandon’s already kind of told twenty two thousand people, though.

‘Saader’s got CDS,’ he says, quiet, so the microphones won’t pick it up.

‘Holy fuck,’ Hickey says, on his other side.

‘Yup,’ Nick says.

The arena starts to murmur. Nick hopes Brandon reappears in the locker room, away from the cameras, or at least off the ice. For his dignity, mostly.

-

**_Blue Jackets Star Brandon Saad Opens Up About Living With CDS_ **

**_From Playoff MVP To Time Travel: An Interview with Brandon Saad_ **

**_Is Brandon Saad The New John Connors?_ **

The articles range from well thought out to frankly absurd. Nick doesn’t read any of them.

Brandon had been gone for about a day, reappeared in his own apartment and called Nick immediately.

‘Everyone knows, don’t they?’ he asks. ‘I’m gonna have _so many_ voicemails.’

‘Yeah,’ Nick says. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I was with you. We were fishing. The Midwest is weird.’

Nick snorts. He remembers that. It was an offseason a few years back, after an early playoff exit. They’d fished, and fooled around in Nick’s uncle’s cabin. It was fun.

‘Do you-- I don’t know where any of my stuff is,’ he says. ‘I had to call you on the landline, but I should probably check my cell, my mom probably lost her shit.’

‘She uh, she called me, actually,’ Nick says. ‘She says you’re giving her grey hairs, and that your dad nearly had a stroke.’ He hears Brandon wincing down the phone.

‘Oh man,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ Nick agrees. He loves Brandon’s mom, but she’s a scary lady, in that “I’m going to look at you sternly and judge all your life choices” way.

‘I’m gonna have to release a statement, aren’t I?’ Brandon says. ‘God, I can’t believe it happened _on the ice_. Twenty four years, and I never once vanished while I was playing hockey.’

‘You love hockey,’ Nick says. ‘I read an article that talked about how stress can force the change sometimes. Even when the game is bad, you still-- you bleed hockey, B. It shows.’

Brandon hums. ‘I love you, and I still travel when I’m with you.’

‘I dunno,’ Nick says. ‘Maybe CDS just has a sense of humour.’

‘Just my luck,’ Brandon says, dry. ‘Okay, I’m gonna call my mom. Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck!’ Nick sing songs. ‘Oh, and Foligno has your stuff. He called to ask if it was okay to keep hold of it until you got back.’

‘Awesome,’ Brandon says. ‘Thanks babe. I’ll call you later.’

‘Love you,’ Nick says, like he does at the end of every phone call.

‘Ditto,’ Brandon says, and hangs up.

-

Brandon does a press conference. Nick watches it online in the player’s room, and ignores the half a dozen guys hanging off the back of the couch behind him.

‘I developed CDS when I was three,’ Brandon’s saying, solemn. ‘It’s been a part of my life for the last twenty one years, but it’s never interfered with hockey before, and I can only hope it won’t again.’

A reporter throws a question at him. ‘All the people who needed to know about my disorder did,’ he says. ‘My family, obviously. The team and the organisation, here and in Chicago.’ He pauses. ‘My partner.’

Nick can feel the stupid grin spreading across his face. Boych punches him in the back of the head. ‘Hey, your boy’s talking about _you_ , Leds!’

‘Yeah,’ Nick says, blushing. ‘Yeah, he is.’

One of the guys wolf whistles, and Nick’s face gets hotter. He fixes his eyes on the screen, where Brandon’s answering a question about how many guys in the league have CDS.

‘I don’t know,’ Brandon says. ‘And if I did, it would be a breach of trust to tell you. There are definitely other guys in the league with CDS, five percent of the population has it, but I’m not giving you names. No way.’

The reporter tries to ask again, and Brandon just no comments until someone else asks about how CDS impacts his everyday life.

‘Well, I had to get a timer put on my stove,’ he says, giving the room a wonky grin. ‘It turns off every ten minutes until I’m there to reset it. And my TV is on a timer too, to save my neighbours from days of TV white noise.’ A ripple of laughter runs through the room. ‘For the most part though, it’s just like having narcolepsy, I guess. There are some things that I know trigger it, so I try my best to avoid them. If I feel it coming on I try to shoot off a text to Fligs or someone.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s been two decades, I kind of have it figured out by now, I hope.’

‘Your boy talks a good talk,’ Boych says, punching Nick in the back of the head again. Nick reaches back and swipes at him, but yeah. Yeah, he does.

He must be blushing again, because Stromer throws a toque at him, and someone else starts singing about him sitting in a tree with Brandon. The whole room picks it up by the end of the second line.

‘You’re all assholes,’ he declares, but that just makes them sing louder. Assholes, seriously. Nick doesn’t know why he likes any of them.

-

**2020**

**Nick is 30, Brandon is 19**

Nick’s kind of dozing when he hears the crash in the living room. His eyes fly open, and he slides out of bed quietly.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he hears, and calms down. It’s just Brandon.

‘Hey, B,’ he says, coming down the stairs.

Brandon jumps, and turns around, and-- oh. ‘You’re _old_ ,’ he says, and Nick laughs.

‘Thanks for that, brat.’

Brandon blushes. ‘Sorry. you’re just-- there’s grey in your beard.’

‘You put it there,’ Nick deadpans. ‘You look young.’

Brandon’s blush deepens. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘It’s uh. It’s my birthday. Back-- there,’ he finishes, waving behind him.

Nick is suddenly, acutely aware that Brandon’s naked. ‘Let me get you some clothes,’ he says. ‘Nothing of yours here will fit, I don’t think, but--’

‘I have clothes here?’ Brandon interrupts.

‘--You don’t know,’ Nick says. ‘Damnit.’

‘Do we live together?’ Brandon asks. ‘Like-- roommates?’

‘Not-- exactly like roommates,’ Nick says, slowly. He’s already told Brandon more than he should, figures he’s already changed the past. He apologises silently to past him.

‘Oh,’ Brandon says. ‘ _Oh_. Uh. Okay.’

He follows Nick up the stairs quietly. ‘Where am I?’ he asks.

‘Columbus,’ Nick says, quietly. Brandon hums.

‘Where’s this?’

‘Uh,’ Nick says. ‘Brooklyn.’

More humming. ‘Okay,’ he says, and that’s that, apparently.

Nothing of his Brandon’s fits this Brandon. Nick’s stuff fits a little better, a little short in the leg, but he’s not as broad as Brandon, so it fits better around the waist. Brandon pulls a (non-hockey team) t-shirt over his head, and Nick can finally stop trying not to stare at the dark trail of hair on his belly.

‘So we’re boyfriends,’ Brandon says, suddenly.

‘Uh. Yeah,’ Nick says.

‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before,’ Brandon says, thoughtfully, and kisses Nick.

Nick sputters, gets a hand on Brandon’s chest and pushes gently. ‘Brandon, we can’t-- You’re so _young_.’

‘I’m not that young,’ Brandon says, leaning in again.

‘I’m _thirty_. You look like a teenager.’ he says, and watches Brandon’s face twitch. ‘And you’re not dating me yet.’

‘But I will,’ Brandon says. ‘So we should like, make out and stuff.’

‘ _Brandon_.’

‘Come _on_ , Leds.’

‘Have you even known me a month yet?’ Nick asks, taking a step back.

‘Six weeks,’ Brandon admits.

Nick thinks back. Suddenly, his earlier friendship with Brandon makes a lot more sense, the way Brandon suddenly seemed to gain a ton of confidence. The way Brandon looked at him, all of a sudden.

Brandon leans in for a kiss again. He’s so _young_ , Nick thinks, even as Brandon fists a hand in his shirt, pulls him in. He’s clumsy when his lips hit Nick’s, and Nick thinks of the inexperience. Wonders how many other people Brandon’s kissed.

 _I’ve never had a boyfriend before_ , Brandon had said.

Nick pulls away. ‘How old are you?’ he asks.

‘I--’ Brandon says. He looks kind of dazed, and his lips are starting to swell.

‘Brandon,’ Nick says. ‘How old are you?’

‘Nineteen,’ he says, eventually. ‘But--’

Nick kisses him properly, biting at Brandon’s lower lip, coaxing a sound out of him. His hands are on Brandon’s hips. He feels so small, skinnier than Nick’s used to, but when he digs his thumbs into the planes of muscle on Brandon’s stomach, they tense, and he feels less breakable.

Brandon’s hands are flat against Nick’s chest. Nick can feel his fingers flexing, and he shifts to let Brandon’s hands slip free, and they fall to his waistband.

Nick almost chokes when Brandon’s hands fumble with the waistband of his sweats.

Brandon palms Nick’s dick through the material, squeezes gently, and Nick forgets all about the protest he was about to make, slides a hand around to Brandon’s ass and gropes, getting a surprised sound out of Brandon.

‘Will you fuck me?’ Brandon asks.

‘ _No_ ,’ Nick says, but Brandon’s still palming his dick, and he feels like his resolve isn’t going to last. He’s always been weak for Brandon, no matter the age.

He fastens his lips to Brandon’s shoulder, where the t-shirt is slipping off, and he sucks a bruise into the pale skin there.

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Brandon says, breathy. ‘Can you-- will you-- do that again, Nick?’

Nick huffs a laugh, and blows warm air over the bruise, making him shiver. ‘Maybe I’ll leave you a bruise somewhere else,’ he says. ‘Somewhere a little more subtle. Easy for you to hide in the locker room.’

‘Oh,’ Brandon says again, a little shakily. ‘Like-- where?’

Nick hums, rubs his beard on Brandon’s throat until he gasps. ‘Wait and find out.’

He gets Brandon into the bed eventually, tugs him across the room and spins him until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he topples backwards, looking shocked.

The eyes are exactly the same, Nick realises. The face is cleaner, less lined, softer around the edges, but his eyes are the same, clear, pale shade of blue Nick sees every time he looks at his Brandon, and the cautious, excited smile is crooked in just the right way. It’s easy to look at him and see where his Brandon grew out of.

It’s easy to watch his eyes slide closed and kiss him gently, tiny kisses all over his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, watching the flush spring up, spreading into the collar of his shirt. Nick wants to follow the blush down with his tongue, so he does, peeling Brandon out of his shirt.

His chest is slimmer than he’s used to, smoother, paler. He can see the shadows where the muscles are going to grow into, and he skims his palms over them carefully.

‘You really love me-- him,’ Brandon says, quietly.

‘Yeah,’ Nick says, surprised. ‘Yeah, I really do. It’s been a long time.’

Brandon looks like he’s going to ask how long, and Nick kisses him again, rolling his hips into Brandon until he feels his dick, hard and warm and tenting his sweats.

That’s the same too, when Nick peels the sweats down, letting Brandon’s dick bob free, long and slender and cut, curving up towards his belly.

‘I thought you weren’t going to fuck me,’ Brandon says, faint. When Nick glances up, he’s staring down at where Nick’s thumb is just brushing up against the crease of his groin, pressing into the very edge.

‘I’m not,’ Nick says. ‘Lots of things I can do instead though, if you want me to.’

Brandon’s eyes widen. ‘Uh,’ he says. ‘Is that a trick question?’

Nick laughs, blows warm air over the head of Brandon’s cock, just starting to flush dark red. Brandon squirms. Nick’s hand sneaks closer to the base of his dick.

‘Want me to blow you, B?’ Nick asks, nickname falling out of his mouth easily.

Brandon nods, pupils already starting to dilate. ‘ _Yeah_.’

Nick’s spent the last eight years sucking Brandon’s dick. He knows exactly what his Brandon likes. He doesn’t know what this Brandon likes. He’s not entirely sure this Brandon even knows what he likes, in all honesty. Maybe this is when he figures it out.

He closes his lips over the head, flicks his tongue over the slit, pushes at the scar that circles the tip. Brandon’s head falls back almost immediately, hitting the pillow with a thump. ‘Oh my god,’ he says. It’s unbelievably flattering, if Nick’s being honest. He hollows his cheeks, takes a little more of Brandon in, and lets it get a little messy, a little sloppy, lets Brandon get a little loud.

‘Oh my god,’ Brandon says again. ‘Leds-- _Nick_.’

Nick pulls off, thumb nudging up underneath Brandon’s balls, pressing gently and squeezing the base of his dick. He mouths down the shaft, looking up through his eyelashes at Brandon. His eyes are closed, but his face is broken wide open, lips slightly parted, chin tilted up. He looks _beautiful_ , Nick thinks, nonsensically.

He stops for a moment, just to look at him, and Brandon’s eyes open, wide and so, so blue. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asks, sounding very young and worried all of a sudden. Nick feels a bit like an asshole.

‘No, no,’ he promises, rubbing Brandon’s kneecap with his thumb. ‘You’re just-- fuck, B, you don’t know what you look like, spread out like this for me.’

Brandon exhales like he’s been punched, cheeks flushing an even darker red.

‘Oh,’ he says, stupidly. ‘I-- no, I don’t.’

‘Want me to tell you?’ Nick asks, low and rough, and Brandon swallows, hard, and nods.

‘You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, babe,’ Nick says, shrugging away the weird feeling he gets about calling a nineteen year old he’s not technically dating ‘babe’. ‘It’s pornographic, how you’re all laid out like this, all neat and clean.’ He pauses, taking a second to roll Brandon’s balls in his palm, before smirking, as filthy as he can. ‘Can’t wait to mess you up, B.’

‘Do it,’ Brandon whispers, and arches his back, spreading his legs a little further. Nick’s eyes flick down to the shadow between his legs, and his fingers twitch towards it, fore and middle fingers rubbing over his perineum. Brandon makes a sound, and his eyes go unfocused.

‘Later,’ Nick promises, and curls his hand around the base of Brandon’s dick again, takes as much of Brandon as he can, until he’s bumping the back of his throat.

‘Oh my god,’ Brandon says, again. Nick is more smug than he probably should be, considering this is the first time someone’s sucking Brandon’s dick, but the sounds he’s making are _so_ gratifying. He hums, and swallows, and Brandon’s hand lands on his shoulder. He can feel his fingers spasming, like he’s trying not to reach out for something else. Nick laughs a little and hollows his cheeks.

Brandon comes after maybe forty five seconds, right down Nick’s throat without a warning.

‘Sorry,’ Brandon says. ‘I didn’t-- that was amazing.’

Nick tries not to feel too satisfied, but Brandon’s flushed and there’s sweat on his temples, making his hair curl, just a little. Nick kisses the cut of his hip, softer than he’s used to, but there’s Brandon’s banana shaped birthmark, just above the ridge.

‘I-- do you want me to--?’ Brandon asks, when Nick moves out of the vee of his legs, but he looks reluctant.

Nick shakes his head. ‘It’s okay. Dicks are scary. I don’t mind.’

Brandon looks like he wants to argue, but Nick kisses him, firm.

‘Go shower,’ he says. ‘I’ll come join you in a sec, okay?’

Brandon nods, not even pretending not to look grateful. Nick kisses him again, because he wants to and he _can_ , and because his boyfriend is all the way in Columbus.

-

He calls his Brandon when he’s shut off the empty shower he found after jerking off hurriedly.

‘Why didn’t you tell me I was your first time?’ he asks, suddenly, halfway through the conversation.

‘I-- figured you knew?’ Brandon says, confused.

‘No, I mean.’ Nick pauses. ‘I just got a visit from you. Fresh from your nineteenth birthday you.’

‘Nicholas Leddy,’ Brandon says, laughing. ‘Did you just have sex with a teenager?’

Nick flushes. ‘Maybe.’

Brandon’s laugh gets louder. ‘I knew you were corruptible.’

‘Because you were the one who corrupted me!’ Nick protests, and then pauses. ‘You don’t-- regret it, do you?’

‘Do I regret having sex with the hot thirty year old who would then become my long term boyfriend as a direct result of that particular case of CDS?’ Brandon asks, teasing.

‘...Shut up,’ Nick says. ‘It sounds weird when you put it like that.’

Brandon keeps laughing at him though, and the conversation devolves from there.

-

**1994**

**Brandon is 27**

He knows where he is as soon as he lands, in some poor family’s backyard. He grabs some clothes off the line, thanking whatever God is listening that they’re not frozen, hops the fence, and starts running.

His feet have tough soles from twenty five years of running around barefoot when he travels, but Eden Prairie in January is _brutal_.

The roads start looking familiar, and Brandon picks up his pace. He knows where he’s going now. He just has to be there on time. He can’t be late. He _can’t._

He hits the lakeshore just in time to watch the ice collapse.

-

**2019**

**Nick is 29, Brandon is 27**

‘You know, I thought I made you up for the longest time,’ Nick says one night, curled around Brandon’s chest. His alarm goes off in four hours to get back to the hotel for the bus to the airport, but. Brandon had vanished in the locker room after the game, Smitty had texted him, who heard it from his buddy Cam, who apparently saw the whole thing while he was unlacing his skates. Brandon had gone all pale, and wobbly, dropped his gloves, and then he was gone.

‘Richie said it was ‘fuckin’ insane’,’ Smitty tells him. Nick texts him a quick thanks, and chews his lip, and takes Brandon’s suit and phone and keys back to his apartment to wait.

It’s almost 2am when Brandon appears on the living room floor, soaked through and icy cold. He’s shivering so much his teeth are chattering, and he says he can’t feel his feet.

‘We need to get you to a hospital,’ Nick says, wrapping a blanket around him, googling hypothermia on his phone.

‘I’m okay,’ Brandon says. ‘I just need to get warmed up again, it’s fine.’

Nick isn’t convinced, but he wraps Brandon in a blanket and sits with his feet in his lap, rubbing the feeling back into them, until Brandon starts looking pink and warm.

‘Where’d you go?’ Nick asks, when they’re curled up in bed.

‘Minnesota,’ Brandon says, and something clicks into place for Nick.

‘1994?’ he asks.

Brandon shrugs. ‘Maybe.’

‘I remember it,’ Nick says. ‘I thought I imagined it. That’s what the therapist said, that the lack of oxygen to my brain made me hallucinate.’

‘Sometimes I feel like your hallucination,’ Brandon admits, smiling crookedly.

‘Nah,’ Nick says. ‘Hallucinations don’t snore.’

Brandon elbows him in the gut, but he’s laughing.

‘If I had to have an imaginary friend,’ Nick says, when Brandon’s settled back into the mattress. ‘I’m really glad it was you.’

Brandon grins at him, presses a kiss to his shoulder. ‘Maybe you did imagine me,’ he says.

‘I must be really good at imagining things,’ Nick says. ‘You feel so real,’ he adds, tickling Brandon until he squirms.

‘Seriously though,’ Brandon says. ‘All the stuff I’ve read about my-- condition, none of it talks about people who keep going back to the same person. It's only in stories. Movies.’

‘I must be pretty special,’ Nick says, only mostly teasing.

‘The most special,’ Brandon says, utterly, brutally sincere.

Nick’s surprised into a smile at that. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, Nicky,’ Brandon says, and tilts his head up for a proper kiss.

Nick’s been with Brandon long enough that he can sense when he’s about to leave. The air gets really cold, and Brandon’s breaths get sharper. The air around him shimmers and then-- he’s gone.

Nick shifts into the warm hollow Brandon had left behind, and settles the pillows around him. He doesn’t know when Brandon will be back, but he will be. He always is.


End file.
